


Walk Tall, Good Hunter

by thecouchwitch



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Dubious Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Gore, Horror, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, eventual promptis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11952498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecouchwitch/pseuds/thecouchwitch
Summary: In search of a cure for a terminal illness, Noctis awakens in the city of Yharnam to find his father missing as terrifying beasts prowl the streets and a mysterious plague ravages the inhabitants. He sets out to find what was taken from him, but even with his newfound strength, he's going to need some help from the locals if he wants to survive until dawn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This comic](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/319923) by Lythane. 



> So these two games are my life, but somehow I never realized how cool a crossover would be until I saw Lythane's comic on tumblr. This inspired a fic, though the end results are going to be far different to Lythane's concepts. I hope you'll all enjoy it, and I'll do my best to write it in a way that anyone who's played one game but not the other can enjoy it with minimal confusion.
> 
> I should preface this though, this fic is not going to follow the story of Bloodborne exactly. Cos I do not have the willpower to write Noctis battling all those bosses and travelling to every single damn area. I had to go through that forest once, I'm not going back, either by playing or by writing. Those snake dudes can fuck off.
> 
> Great thanks to invisibledeity for beta-ing!

  
  
-

 

It's a familiar scene for Noctis Lucis Caelum, lying on the dirtiest hospital stretcher in history, staring at the moldy and cracked ceiling as he tries to ignore the coughing and cries of despair coming from the surrounding rooms. He sees no reason why this would turn out differently to every other snake oil treatment and miracle pill he's tried before. Born sick, slowly dying all his twenty years of life from the very same ailment that killed his mother, he's been mentally prepared to die for a long time, but his father Regis, Gods bless him, is far more reluctant to part from his son. Even now, his father is with him, stroking his hand, speaking to the doctor in a low and serious tone.  
  


Noctis could listen to what is being said, but he's heard it all before. And he's tired, ridiculously so. His condition has been worsening for months now, his normally slow decline of health taking a sudden plunge. It's why they're in Yharnam in the first place; one didn't come here unless one was dying, unless one had tried everything else. Yharnam was a last resort, home to the Healing Church, blessed by the Great Ones. But it was just as much a city of curse and disease, its “healing” rarely coming without great cost. There was no denying that its medicine and magic worked, but the potential costs were so great that any sane person would prefer the peace and certainty of a natural death.  
  


“Noctis?” Regis says, stirring him from a sleep he didn't realize he was drifting into. He opens his eyes, and his father is smiling sadly. “Were you listening to any of that?”  
  


“No...”  
  


Regis nods. “The doctors here say... They have a treatment, they say it will help you. They want to begin administering it right now, it will take some hours to perform.”  
  


Noctis can't walk right now, can't eat, can't breathe, can't think straight. He can't even sit up by himself, quite frankly he's surprised he even survived the journey from home. He can feel the end coming, he finds it harder and harder to stay awake, harder to draw breath, and he wonders if he even has those few hours. But he smiles, to appease his father, to give him some relief, because he doesn't want their remaining time together to be more painful than it has to be.  
  


The doctor wheels his stretcher out of the consultation room and down the hall, to a room at the end. It's a decent sized room, built to hold several beds, because the clinic has no mind for things like privacy, even with a client as wealthy as Noctis. In Yharnam, outsiders are usually treated as little better than animals.  
  


There is one other patient in the room, a man asleep in his bed in the corner, his pale face gaunt, his body skeletal, blond hair lying limp beside his cheeks in short tails. A second man, with wild hair the colour of wine and eyes the colour of dusk, stands beside him, not a patient but a priest, decorated in the dark garb of the Healing Church. The Priest stands still as a statue, watching the comatose skeleton's prostrate form as though waiting for something. It takes him a moment to notice that others have entered the room, at which point he draws the curtain around the bed shut.  
  


Noctis wonders if he'll be dead before the skeleton wakes up. He wonders if the skeleton will wake up at all. Will that man in church garb stand over his own bed soon? He feels his eyes sting. “Dad, I wanna go home...”  
  


They're too far from home of course, more than a day’s journey, but he's not in a logical state of mind right now. Regis squeezes his hand as the stretcher comes to a halt. The doctor and Regis both lift the weary patient up onto the bed, and then the doctor is out of sight, rattling about with whatever's in a cupboard in the corner, before returning with the medical equipment he had been seeking. He hangs a bottle of liquid atop a stand, glinting red in the late afternoon light, and when Noctis looks up at it, it's full of the thickest, darkest, most disgusting blood that he's ever seen. He's no stranger to such a commonplace procedure as a blood transfusion, but upon seeing that blood something in his feverish and confused mind snaps, and he feels an overwhelming need to escape the clinic.  
  


With what little strength he still possesses, he tries to shy away from the needle coming towards him, tries to get out of bed, but he's too weak, and his father alone easily subdues him and holds him down.  
  


“Noct, please!”  
  


“No, I can't.... I don't want it!”  
  


“Are you sure there isn't any other way?” Regis looks at the doctor pleadingly. The medical practices in Yharnam are strange, alien, and even if Regis trusts the words of the church over the rumours of the masses out of pure desperation, seeing his son hysterical with fear is more than enough to shake his faith.  
  


“I promise you, Master Caelum, unless we do this right now, your son won't survive the night. Besides which, he's already signed the contract.”  
  


A contract. Noctis vaguely remembers a clipboard with a piece of paper being shoved in his face when he first arrived. He didn't read the terms and conditions, he couldn't in his state, so he'd just loosely marked his initials. He'd signed many things in the past to give healers, doctors, and slimy salesmen permission to practice their experimental procedures on him, so at this point he's stopped caring.  
  


Now, of course, he regrets it. He wishes he'd read it, because he feels like this time is different from the others. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be doing this. He wishes his father would just let go.  
  


The grip on Noctis' arms tighten, and Noctis knows the doctor has won. Noctis chokes back a sob. “Please let me die...”  
  


“Just bear with it a while longer,” Regis says after a moment of silence. “You can sleep if you like, and I'll be here the entire time.”  
  


Noctis stills, going slack against the bed. Regis keeps a hand on one shoulder, pinning him down as the doctor pricks his arm and inserts the drip, allowing the disgusting blood to flow down into the patient's frail form. His father uses his free hand to stroke Noctis' hair from his eyes, and lay a kiss on his forehead, and as he drifts off to sleep it makes Noctis wonder if it's a kiss of farewell, if his father suspects he won’t survive either way. Neither of them have hope, and yet both are trying for the sake of the other.  
  
  


-  
  
  


Noctis sleeps fitfully. He has horrible dreams, of ice and fire in his veins, of monsters standing over his bed, of people screaming, of shadows clawing at his clothes. He sees faces and places, in flashes too quick and chaotic to make out, and when he next wakes, the room is dark and cold.  
  
He moves slowly, still weak and disoriented, but at least he has the strength to sit up. His chest feels strange. Later, he'll realise it's because for the first time in his life, his lungs feel clear. On instinct, he peers around the darkened room, looking for his father, and is surprised to find him gone. He can't ever remember a time when he's had one of these last-resort-experimental type treatments and woken from sleep, and his father hasn't been beside him, maybe dozing or reading, but waiting and present nonetheless.

  
There are no lights on in the room, and the sun outside has set, plunging the room into twilight in a way that makes it impossible to guess the time without a clock. Carefully, cautiously, Noctis gets to his shaking feet, pleasantly surprised that he can stand, confused to find he's still wearing the clothes he came in with. No one has even removed his shoes, or pulled the covers of the bed over his legs. The drip that was supposed to be feeding him that miracle cure is gone without a trace.

  
And the stench. Far more awake now, he notices a strong, rotten smell. Blood and guts, like an animal decomposing by a roadside. He glances over at the other occupant in the room, wondering if he passed during the night, and he nearly throws up, stumbling backward with a yell. There is no longer anything recognisable as a human in that bed, only vague lumps of bones and flesh and blood, like the man that once lay there had been torn apart by wolves.

  
Noctis calls out for his father and runs out into the hall. There's no lights on there either, and it's even darker without the moon shining through any windows, but the same stench of blood is there, and there are black puddles on floor that Noctis tries and fails to avoid stepping in. It's a scene of carnage straight from a horror novel. What the hell happened? Where were the doctors? Where was his dad?

  
He finds a flight of stairs and hurries down them, not even stopping to think about how quickly his strength was returning. He's only thinking about finding his father, or another survivor who could at least explain what's going on, and at last he hears movements from a room up ahead, which he vaguely recognises as the waiting room at the entrance on the clinic. The door is open, and light is coming through the doorway, dim like a candle drowning in wax, but light nonetheless. There are stretchers and chairs, bookshelves and cupboards, and in the corner is a dark figure, hunched over something, taking shallow, rasping breaths.

  
Noctis stops in his tracks. His blood goes cold, because it isn't until now that he realises whatever tore apart the skeletal upstairs could still be in the building. He glances around for a weapon, something he could defend himself with, but the only thing within reach is a discarded walking cane resting against the wall. Better than nothing.

  
He grabs it, and that movement is what alerts the figure to his presence. The figure turns, and Noctis can't help but let out a small yell of fear. It's not a man, but a wolf, or a beast of similar origin, the size of a person, standing on its unnaturally long legs like a hunchback. It snarls at Noctis, baring a mouth full of bloody fangs, and begins moving towards him, knocking a wheelchair carelessly from its path so it crashes against the far wall and breaks apart like chinaware.

  
Noctis takes a step back and brandishes the cane like a sword. The beast is between Noctis and the exit. He considers running back into the clinic in hopes of locating a back exit, but the beast takes advantage of his hesitation and leaps at him. Noctis barely dodges it. He did fencing as a child, when his illness had not claimed him to such a degree, but he's sorely out of practice, and wrestling with a monster is a far cry from dodging a human opponent that means you no true harm.

  
The beast quickly turns, swiping a massive claw at its intended victim. Noctis manages to dodge it again, better this time, then drives the end of the cane straight into the beast's abdomen with all the force he can muster. It doesn't pierce the flesh like a blade would, but it catches the beast off-guard, makes it stumble back and howl in pain, and Noctis takes this opportunity to dash for the exit.

  
Already the beast is chasing after him, and he dares not look back as he runs out into the clinic's front yard. It's a small graveyard, crowded with far too many headstones of varying ages that no doubt belong to patients past, with a huge metal gate at the far end that leads out to the street. It has a lock on it, but it's slightly ajar, and Noctis manages to slip between it and pull it shut with a loud rusty clang before the beast can catch him.

  
The force of the beast hitting the gate is enough to knock him off his feet, but there's luckily no need to hold on, because the gate's lock has already fallen into place automatically on shutting. The beast rattles the gate, reaching through the bars, trying to get through it by force, but the lock holds steady, and the animal doesn’t seem able to climb.

  
Exhausted, Noctis allows his knees to buckle and he sits a safe distance from the gate, trying to catch his breath while his heart hammers painfully in his chest. He looks around, trying to get his bearings. He finds himself on a narrow cul-de-sac; on one side of the street there’s the clinic and graveyard, an array of walls and gates, and building upon building lining the road as it curves out of sight. On the other, the street becomes a multilevel balcony, with some steps going down onto a dizzyingly high viewing platform that overlooks a lower level of the city. There, too, is the carriage that he and his father arrived in, waiting on the corner. The driver is gone, and the horse lies dead, its eyes gone from the sockets, its guts spewed out onto the ground. And there are coffins everywhere, wooden ones and metal ones of varying sizes, lining the streets, resting against walls like a historical painting depicting a plague.

  
Have they come during a plague? Surely Regis wouldn't have knowingly brought Noctis here during a pestilence, no matter how desperate he was to save him? Noctis doesn't recall seeing the coffins on their arrival, but then, he wasn't exactly lucid at that time.

  
He shakes his head and stands. His father's safety comes first, he can ask questions later. He needs to get somewhere safe and get his bearings, maybe ask around and see if anyone knows where Regis is. He must have been forced to flee when the wolf attacked the clinic, forced being the key word here as Noctis knows his father would never willingly leave his son behind. He hadn’t seen his body anywhere during his escape, so he must have fled.

  
The city is dark, but the moon is large and low in the sky, and an occasional street lamp can be found, providing just enough light for Noctis to comfortable see his way. He starts making his way up the road, walking cane clutched tightly in his hand should another one of those wolves be lurking about. The city is dark, but the moon is large and low in the sky, and an occasional street lamp can be found , providing just enough light for Noctis to comfortable see his way.

  
He turns a corner, and nearly cries in relief when he spots people. A couple of men are up ahead, carrying lit torches high above their heads with one hand as the walk, weapons clutched in another. One carries a pitchfork, and another carries a gun. Hunters, perhaps? Looking for the beast that Noctis just trapped in the clinic?

  
“H-Hello?” He can't keep the quiver out of his voice when he calls out for them. They turn to face him, and Noctis instantly realises he made a bad move; their faces are dirty and covered in blood, their hair is wild, their features are warped and cruel, and their eyes are filled with equal parts hatred and fear. The men yell and start rushing towards him, brandishing their torches, and this time Noctis is knocked off his feet by his foe, cane flying out of his hand.

  
“Get off!” He cries and struggles, but the men are yelling incoherently about beasts, and they seem to think he is one, and the one with the pitchfork stabs his improvised weapon downwards in an attempt to drive the prongs through Noctis' skull. Noctis rolls out of the way, and the pitchfork is driven into his shoulder instead. He screams. The man kicks him. His equally deranged partner is loading his gun and taking aim, and somehow through all the agony Noctis has the presence of mind to move. The first attacker takes hold of the pitchfork's handle now, trying to pull back in order to plunge it in again, but before he can, Noctis grabs the handle too and wrenches as hard as he can. The man is pulled forth along with it, and the gunman fires before he can register that his fellow is blocking the path to his prey.

  
The now-corpse crumples on top of his would-be victim, he's heavy and smells bad enough to make Noctis' stomach turn, but he can't give in. He shoves him off, and grits his teeth as he pries the pitchfork from his flesh. Blood pours out, but he can't stop to worry about it.  
  


Noctis has never hurt anyone before, has never want to hurt anyone, but the gunman isn't giving him a choice. Having abandoned the slow-loading gun, he's lunging forward with the torch, aiming right for Noctis' eyes, and Noctis has no time to get out of the way. He has no choice. He stabs the pitchfork into the soft flesh of his attacker's abdomen. The gunman drops the torch, but doesn't stop, he's screaming, scratching at Noctis' face, trying to gouge his eyes out, trying to wrap his fingers around his throat, and so with no other option Noctis kicks the gunman off the prongs of the pitchfork, then boots him hard in the face.  
  


The gunman falls to the ground, joining his companion in bleeding out quietly on the cobbled stone. They're probably dead, or close to it. Noctis has just killed two people, and when the realization hits him, he falls to knees and vomits.  
  


Tears stream down his face, even after he finishes retching. He has to be dreaming, it has to be a nightmare. He wants his dad, wants to go home, wants to wake up. He wants to have died in the clinic during the transfusion, because if this is what he gets in exchange for wellness then he doesn't want it.  
  


Minutes pass, and Noctis' panic attack eases up, allowing him to breathe again. The shotgun belonging to his attacker lies on the road where the gunman had dropped it, so Noctis collects himself and stands, picking the shotgun up and quickly looking it over. He only has the vaguest idea of how to load and operate a gun, but it's better to have it than not. If nothing else, perhaps the mere presence of it will be enough to scare away any other attackers, not that he even understood why he was attacked in the first place. They seemed to think he was a beast, but upon checking his reflection in a nearby window all he sees is himself, skinny and frail but definitely human. Either he's hallucinating, or his attackers were.  
  


He mentally shakes himself and looks around. No time for questions; he has to find a safe place to think and plan. He has to find his dad. The road he's on leads upwards into the city, but following it, he finds it closed off by a massive gate. Unlike the gate at the clinic, it's already locked shut, and he doesn't think he can climb it even with his newfound strength and energy.  
  


Searching up and down the street, he finds no other ways out of the cul-de-sac, so he returns to the gate to check for anything he might have missed, and that's when he notices a mechanical ladder hanging down from the roof of one of the dizzyingly high buildings.  
  


He stands before it and looks up. He can't see over the top, but a bird’s eye view of the city might help him find his way. He straps the gun to his back, and then slowly, he ascends. He's strangely unbothered by the shoulder wound he recieved earlier; it's faded to a dull ache, the bleeding has already stopped. He tries not to think too hard about the implications of that, he's got far too much on his plate already. When he reaches the top of the ladder, he finds himself not on a roof, but another street, not wide enough for carriages and horses, with even more buildings towering up over him, dark and imposing and all clustered together in non-Euclidean chaos. He wonders just how high up Yharnam goes, he didn't get a look at it on the approach in his and his father's carriage, but it seems to go on forever. It must be built into the face of a cliff.  
  


He takes a few steps, gun clutched in his hands as he peers into every shadow for danger, and that's when he notices a lantern. Not tall like a streetlamp, or compact and free-hanging like a handheld one, it hangs from a waist-high stand built right in the middle of the walkway, with a couple of silver bells tied to it with string. Even in a city with architecture as strange as this, the lamp stands out to Noctis. It's unlit, but draws his attention like a lone bright star in a darkened sky, and he finds himself struck by an irresistible urge to stop and examine it. He approaches it cautiously, then reaches out a hand to touch it. To his shock, the moment his skin touches the cold metal, a flame lights within it, a cold blue-white bright enough to blind, bright enough to melt the darkness of Yharnam from existence, and then the ground is gone from beneath Noctis' feet, and he thinks no more.  
  


 

-  
  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis dreams of two women, one in black, one in white, who entrust him with a sword and instruct him to hunt the beasts that plague the city. Upon waking, he meets a strange man with blue eyes and hair like sunlight, who requests safe passage out of the city in exchange for information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about Gentiana, I had her cast as the Doll from the start because their voices are so similar that at first I thought they had the same actress. Turned out to not be the case.
> 
> And at last Prompto is here :D I have big plans for him. Poor scared little bird.
> 
> Big thanks to invisibledeity for beta-ing!
> 
> And don't forget to review guys, even if you want to criticise it. I can take it and feedback is the only way i can improve my work.

- 

Noctis dreams of the past, of unrelenting sunshine and soft breezes that tickle his nose with the smell of grass and wildflowers. He's eight years old, on a picnic with his father, and it’s one of those rare days where he feels well enough to go out and play. When he gets light headed he lies down in Regis' lap and dozes while he strokes his father strokes his hair. Then he remembers, and the fantasy dissolves. He scrunches his nose up and rolls onto his back, and when he opens his eyes he sees the moon, pale and full, low enough in the sky that he feels like if he reached out his fingertips could brush against it. The sky is unobstructed by the spires of Yharnham, instead it's wide and blue and starless, dappled by white clouds that do nothing to dull the brightness of the moon. He sits up.

He's no longer in the city, instead it appears he's landed in yet another cemetary. It's built atop a small hill, aged and faded headstones peppering the flowery grass between winding stone paths with about as much planning as had gone into the placement of buildings in Yharnham. The entire area is walled off by high iron fencing, not that Noctis can see a way to leave even if the fencing was absent. The hill is surrounded by a thick blanket of fog, everything beyond the fence completely obscured from sight except for some tall trees in the far distance that rise above the whiteness.

He gets to his feet and reaches for the shotgun strapped to his back. To his worry, he finds it gone. He checks himself over in a panic, looking for anything else that might be out of place, and discovers that the wound he received to his shoulder, which was already healing unnaturally fast, has completely faded away. Even his clothes, which had been torn and bloodied upon being stabbed, are clean and mended like they've just come out of the wash.

“The child of the moon awaits the good hunter.”

A soft feminine voice breaks the silence of the graveyard. Noctis' head snaps up in the voice's direction, and sees a woman, standing near the entrance of the building, her hair long and dark enough to nearly vanish into the blackness of her mourning clothes. When Noctis looks at her, she bows low. She doesn't look dangerous, certainly not beastlike, but Noctis remains frozen where he woke, not wishing to take any chances until he finds out where he is.

“Where am I? What's going on?”

The woman gestures to the building behind her. “Questions of the hunter shall be answered within, and when you must return to the streets, the stone shall guide your way."

Then she turns, and glides up the steps into the building. Noctis hesitates for a moment, then follows her inside. The outside of the building resembles a mausoleum, but inside it looks more like a chapel, with an altar at the back, a fireplace to the side, and a great many books piled up. What overflows the shelves ends up in stacks on the ground. There's a table by the fire, along with two matching armchairs patterned with a floral material, and in one of the chairs a woman is seated, different to the one outside. This one is younger, sadder, with platinum blonde hair and shadows under her eyes that make her look older than what her face would suggest. To further contrast the dark haired woman, the blonde wears all white, an evening dress made of fine silk that shimmers in the flickering light of the fire. She looks up when Noctis and the dark haired woman enter, and as the dark haired woman goes to stand beside her, the blonde extends a hand invitingly.

“Ah, hello good hunter. I am known as Lunafreya, and my companion here is named Gentiana. Would you like to take a seat?”

“I'm fine,” Noctis says dismissively, meaning it purely in a physical sense. “Look, have you seen my father? His name's Regis, he-”

“You will not find any but us here,” Luna interrupts,“Lest your father signs a contract too, and at this late hour, such a thing is unlikely. This is the hunters dream, where all Hunters go to prepare before cleansing the streets of beasts.”

“I'm... I'm dreaming?”

“You are always dreaming, good hunter. This is a dream next to the dream you are familiar with, safe from the scourge that plagues Yharnam. As long as you are here however, your true dream will never reach a conclusion, and the hunt will never end. I ask of you, fulfill the terms of your contract, so you might see the sunrise again.”

Noctis frowns. “Contract...? You mean that thing I signed in the clinic?”

Luna bows her head in affirmation, a sad smile playing about her lips. “In exchange for good health, you have offered your services during the night of the hunt. Please, try not to think about it too much. Simply take up a weapon and fulfill the terms.”

“Try not to... Look, I dont care about hunting, I'm not even from here!” He has no time for this, he needs to get back to the city, needs to find Regis and leave before things get worse. Lunafreya doesn't even flinch, keeping her grey eyes fixed on Noctis with dispassion. “Just tell me how to find my dad, there are monsters everywhere and he could be in trouble!”

“If a hunter does not hunt,” Lunafreya replies coolly, “then the hunt never ends, and the night lasts forever. I know naught of your father, but if you hope to see him in the morning, the contract must be honoured.”

“Aren't you listening?! I don't know anything about hunting!” Noctis slams his hands on the table. He's had enough of Yharnam, and the last thing he needs right now is some mysterious woman giving him cryptic riddles as answers to simple questions.

Lunafreya gazes at him for a moment, then closes her eyes and stands up slowly. Noctis takes a step back, watching her for any sudden movements, but she merely glides past Noctis, past Gentiana who remains as still as a statue, and goes over to an old wooden trunk sitting up against the chapel wall. She opens it, and holds a hands out to Noctis.

“Please come, good hunter.”

“My name is Noctis. I'm not a hunter.” Noctis doesn't move.

“I know,” the woman lowers her arm, “but the gods care not for your skill or awareness, only that you signed your service to them. Your father motivates you, and so wherever he is, if he lives, he will remain hidden until the Gods are satisfied.”

“But... But he hasn't done anything to them!” Not for the first time that night, Noctis feels on the verge of despair. Is this woman seriously saying that these “Gods” are holding his father hostage? He can't be dreaming. If he is, this has got to be a nightmare. Lunafreya gives him a sympathetic look, one of the few actual signs of emotion that she'll ever give him, then bends down, and out of the trunk she lifts some kind of short sword. She comes back over to Noctis and holds it out to him with something like reverence.

“Please trust me when I say I take no pleasure in this,” she says, eyes boring into his with great intensity, “All I can do is prepare you as best as you can be. Wield this blade, and your hunters instincts will carry you as far as you'll let them take you.”

Her patience apparently at an end, she pushes the sword into Noctis' hands. Noctis makes a noise of surprise and grabs it instinctively, looking down at it in confusion, because he doesn't even know how to hold one of these things correctly, let alone wield it, so how is he supposed to trust his instincts?

“But how do I-” He looks up. The space where the woman once stood is empty. He stumbles back a step in surprise, and looks around the chapel. Gentiana is gone too, and he hadn't even heard them leave. They're done answering questions, it seems.

He curses under his breath and turns his attention back to the sword. Its hilt is elaborately decorated, crafted and and carved in a way that it appears as though machinery is attached to it. When he unsheathes it to examine it further, its blade gleams silver like the moon outside, and he feels a strange tingling in his fingers that puts him on edge. He returns the sword to the scabbard, and belts it around his waist before taking a breath and clenching his fists.

 _Okay then._ If hunting is what gets his dad back, then hunting is what he'll do. Not like he has a choice, anyway. This entire situation is fucking crazy, but clearly trying to reason his way out of it won’t work, so he'll play by the Gods’ rules. He's really seeing now why the Healing Church is such an unpopular faith where he's from. Back home, the major religion is Astralism, the worship of a group of beings that created the universe. He doesn't know much about the Yharnamite faiths, doesn't even know the names of most of the Gods they revere, and so far, he isn't impressed.

Going outside, he can't see an exit, and he expects he won’t find one, since this place is a dream if Lunafreya is to be believed. Gentiana mentioned something about gravestones showing him the way, so he looks for any that might stand out as different from the rest. Pretty quickly, he strikes gold; on the path leading up to the chapel entrance are a line of headstones, much better tended and neatly arranged than the others. Bending down to examine the one closest, he sees that the stones near the door don't have names and dates, but rather the names of places that he assumes are within the city.

One in particular reads “Central Yharnam”. That's definitely in the city. There's no map or buttons on the stone, no how-to instructions that might actually help him do the job he's expected to do, so he tries the first thing that comes to mind, and touches the engraving. His instincts pay off.

-

This time, when Noctis opens his eyes, the spires of Yharnam rise up above him like they should, and he's lying on cold stone pavement, a sharp crumbling pebble digging uncomfortably into his back. The lantern is next to him, still lit up from when he touched it, but its light is obscured by a dark shadow bending over Noctis with a hand outstretched. Noctis yells out and shoves the shadow away from him, scrambling to his feet as his hand flies to the blade at his side. It's still there, dream or not. The shadow yells too, falling on its face. It tries to get to its feet too, but Noctis is faster, and suddenly he's holding the tip of the sword to the shadow's throat, making it freeze on its knees.

At this angle, with the light of the lamp and the moon shining directly on it rather than from behind, it can be seen that the shadow is not a formless silhouette, but a person wearing a long, hooded cloak, a shade of crimson standing out starkly against the greys and blacks of the city around him. It's a man, probably no older than Noctis, with wide electric blue eyes, mouth gaping open in a cut-off scream. He looks terrified. Noctis wants to lower his sword, but he doesn't.

“Are you a beast?”

A beast probably wouldn't answer with anything but violence, but he asks anyway. The man's fear turns to confusion. His voice cracks as he speaks. “I... No, I'm not?”

He lowers his sword and sighs in relief. “Thank Gods.”

The man lets his shoulders relax a little, but doesn't move. “I'm sorry, um, I thought you were dead, so... I didn't take anything though!”

The man still thinks he's in danger, and Noctis can't help but feel a bit guilty at the fear in his voice. It would have sucked to wake up and find his sword gone just after obtaining it, but he clearly means no harm, and he didn't succeed, so he doesn't really care about almost being looted. It's hard to worry about petty crime on a night like this.

“It's fine, I wont hurt you, see?” He puts the sword back in the scabbard and holds his hands up, hoping to put the guy at ease somewhat. The hooded man still isn't relaxing though, he's still waiting for Noctis to do something, frozen like a frightened doe in torchlight, blue eyes so wide and bright they put the moon above them to shame. His features are mostly obscured by the shadow of the hood, but his eyes are such an intense colour that they seem to almost glow in the dark.

“Are you a hunter?” He asks the question in a small but high pitched voice.

“Yeah,” Noctis nods. This guy really doesn't seem dangerous, and he's clearly a local. If he can just get him to relax a bit, maybe he can talk to him, ask him whats going on, get information that he never would have gotten from the women in the dream. “But I'm not from Yharnam, I just arrived today and then this all started. I could really use some help, I have no idea what's happening.”

This is what ends up mollifying the man. Some of the tension appears to melt from his shoulders and he stands up, his eyes softening to a more relaxed width in the shadow of his hood. “Are you that outsider that came in the carriage today?”

Surprising that someone living in such a large city would recall individuals coming and going. But then, perhaps Yharnam gets so few visitors that it's easy to remember the arrival of a stranger. Noctis nods again, making a noise of affimation. “My father was with me, I'm looking for him. Have you seen anyone with grey hair and a beard named Regis? He doesn't look like me much; my mother was from the East.”

His mother died days after her son was born, from the same illness that Noctis suffered until tonight. She had suffered less severely than Noctis, but the difficult pregancy and even more difficult birth was far too heavy a toll. She had been a childhood friend of his fathers', growing up on a nearby estate, but her family had from an Eastern land decades before, and going by the old paintings his father had of her hanging in the family manor, it was from her that he had inherited much of his looks. By all accounts, Regis had been broken by her death, only barely managing to hold himself together for the sake of their son, going beyond call and duty when social convention would see it fit for him to pass most of the care to his staff of nannies and servants.

Noctis is determined to show that same devotion and care. Lunafreya said he wouldn't find his father until morning, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to try. Unfortunately, the man shakes his head sadly, a sympathetic tinge to his voice. “I haven't seen anyone like that, sorry.”

At that moment, a horrible bone-chilling shriek cuts through the air, unlike anything Noctis has ever heard produced by man or animal. The man snaps his head up to scan the horizon, but when Noctis follows his gaze, he sees nothing about the city skyline that's out of place.

“It's not safe here. We should talk inside.” The man overcomes his caution and steps towards Noctis, tugging him by his sleeve towards a house on the side of the street. The windows are barred boarded, and the door is hanging open. Hanging by the window is some kind of incense burner, filling the air around the place with an indescribable scent that makes Noctis' nose itch and his eyes burn.

“Sacred incense,” the man answers explains unprompted as they cross the threshhold, shutting the door behind them and plunging them both in total darkness. “Keeps the smaller beasts away, usually. You'll get used to it.”

“Is this your house?”

“Nah.” The man moves away from Noctis, and seconds later, soft light fills the room, and the man is in the corner, lighting an oil lamp and placing it back on a stand. Noctis finds they're standing in a living room, kitchen just feet from the sofa, aged and peeling papered walls covered with a scattering a dusty photographs depicting people Noctis will never meet. “I uh, broke in. Looking for food and shelter, you know? I dunno where the people who lived here went. Killed or transformed before they could get indoors, probably.”

He turns to face Noctis and pulls his hood back from his face. Pale skin broken up by the lightest scatter of freckles, hair the colour of cornsilk that hangs flat down by his cheeks, Noctis only has to look at him for a moment before his eyes widen with recognition. He takes a step back, nearly hitting the door as he points accusingly. “I-It's you!”

The man blinks, and suddenly the panic from before returns to his face. “M-Me?”

“From the clinic! I was in your room when they treated me! But... But you were dead!”

It's still so vivid in his mind. The man in the clinic was far thinner, just skin and bones with sunken cheeks, complexion dull and greasy from lack of nutrition and care, but even so, there's no mistaking him. Same height, same fine lips, same pointed chin, same rounded cheekbones. Considering the effects that magical blood transfusion was having on Noctis, it's not hard to imagine that the skeleton could have experienced a similarly miraculous recovery from whatever wasting disease he suffered from, but when Noctis woke up, all that had remained in the bed across from him was the twisted and bloody remains of a corpse.

“Ah.” The man in front of him relaxes at his words yet again, the panic draining from his face as he sighs. He leans back against the table that the lamp is sitting on, shoulders sagging in something like resignation. “He wasn't me.”

“He wasn't?”

“No. My brother. Um, he was sick.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. I figured he wouldn't make it, anyway.”

Noctis wonders if he should clarify that the man’s brother was killed rather than passing from his illness, but he decides against it, for now. The man doesn't give him a chance anyway, because he quickly changes the subject. “My name's Prompto, if you're wondering.”

“Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

“Wow, fancy name. I like it.” Prompto gives him a kind of pained smile. “So you wanted to talk, yeah? Lady Luna not tell you any helpful info before tossing you back out here?”

“You've met Lunafreya?”

“Nah, I'm not a hunter. I've heard plenty about her though. She's like a personal servant of the Gods, sends out contracts into the waking world to sucker people into serving them too. I heard rumours that she used to be a normal human who lived in Yharnam years ago, but I can't tell you if they're true or not. Just as many people will claim she's a God herself.”

Noctis frowns. “So, hunters... They're not just guys who chase after deer and foxes, then?”

“Not around here they aren't. Here, they dream, and fight beasts. They usually work for the Church, too, doing their dirty work in exchange for blood from a God, called Old Blood. You were in a doctor's clinic right? If you're a hunter now, they would have given you some."

He gestures towards Noctis and makes a motion like he's injecting an invisible needle into the air, and Noctis can't help but grimace at the memory. Having divine blood would certainly explain his recovery, but he's never heard of a God bleeding to heal before. The Gods of his land healed in other ways, blessing humans with unobtrusive holy magic.

Prompto pushes off from where he's leaning and walks to the kitchenette, opening the cupboards on the walls to look inside. He grabs a can and holds it out closer to the light, squinting at the label. “Beans. You hungry?”

“No thanks.” Noctis says quickly. He's not properly hungry, truthfully. He could go for a snack, but he'd rather starve than eat beans. “Anyway, won't that take a while to cook?”

Prompto shrugs. “I don't mind eating it cold. Besides, it's not like I'm in a hurry. Time gets funny on the night of the hunt, hours can pass but it'll feel like weeks.”

“Lunafreya mentioned something about the night of the hunt. She said the night wouldn't end until the Gods were satisfied I'd done my job or something.”

“The night won’t end until the Gods think the hunters have worked enough, yeah.” Prompto nods. He pulls open the kitchen drawers and rifles through the contents, looking for a can opener most likely. “Or at least, that's what I've been told. The Old Blood... It heals, but sometimes it turns people into beasts. Everyone thinks they'll be the exception, and the Church tells everyone that the risk is worth it and you only transform if your soul is “impure” or whatever, but every couple of years, a night like tonight comes around, and people start transforming like crazy.”

Noctis flashes back to the men who attacked him earlier who called him a beast, and again, he checks himself, feeling his cheeks and rolling up his sleeves to look at his arms, but he's no hairier than he was that morning. Which is to say, not very hairy at all. He's not sure if it's his genetics or his poor health, but his body hair has always been a bit sparse compared to the other men in his family.

Prompto's face falls when he sees Noctis examining himself. “Uh, not that I think you're transforming! I'd be able to tell straight away if you were, before you even sprouted fangs, and you aren't, so you shouldn't worry, okay?”

Noctis huffs in exasperation and sits heavily on the worn sofa, more emotionally exhausted than physically. “Easier said than done.”

“Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I dunno.”

Prompto looks sheepish again, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground. He hasn't found a can opener, so he's just fiddling with the can, picking at the label and turning it around in his hands anxiously. Noctis wonders if Prompto is still scared he's going to hurt him. The idea that anyone would find him intimidating is ludicrous, but he did attack the poor guy earlier. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to think of something to ease the tension.

“Um. I like your cloak.”

Not surprisingly, Prompto looks confused. “Huh?”

“It's, um, cool. A nice colour. Suits you.”

“Are you asking if you can have it?”

“What, no! Ugh, never mind.” Shaking his head, he stands up. He doesn't have time to work on his social skills, his dad is still out there somewhere, and he's no closer to finding him. “Look, I should probably get back outside and start hunting-”

He steps towards the door, and then Prompto is back to panicking, flying across the room to grab Noctis' arm, nearly pulling him off balance. His eyes are wide, blue like lightning, on the verge of tears, and his fingers dig into his arm hard enough that Noctis worries his nails will pierce his skin. “Wait! Don't leave me here, I... I want you to take me with you.”

“Wha-” Noctis wrenches his arm free, “Why the hell would you want that? You said yourself it isn't safe outside!”

“I-I know.” There's uncertainty in Prompto's voice, he's clearly scared, but his jaw is set, and he's clenching his fists to stop them from shaking. He talks fast, almost too fast for Noctis to keep up with. “But I don't want to live here any more, okay? I was already going to leave tonight, like I was kind of expecting I'd die before I got to the city limits, but If I have a hunter with me, that ups my chances right? And I can help you in exchange! You need a guide, someone who knows Yharnam and how the hunt works. Or, like, I'm not a hunter, but I have a gun, I know how to shoot, or I can serve as a distraction... Just, please take me with you when the sun rises.”

He leans forward, eyes wide and desperate. He's not much shorter than Noctis, maybe two or three inches, but he seems so much smaller somehow, so vulnerable and sad. “Please, Noctis?”

Noctis heaves a sigh of defeat. He doesn't want to put anyone else in danger, but Prompto has a point, he _does_ need help, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared of going out onto those streets alone. “Fine. As long as you're aware of the risks.”

His new companion smiles far too brightly for the situation he's put himself in. But then, perhaps leaving Yharnam really is worth dying for.

-


	3. Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be updating this fanfiction any more, or any others, nor will i be writing or uploading any new ones. The fact is, no one comments on fanfictions any more. If I get any comments, it's pretty rare, and without feedback and encouragement I simply have no motivation to write. It's really disheartening to get nothing but kudos, to know that your writing isn't worth more to anyone than a button click. I'm not blaming anyone in particular for this, just the general fandom culture that has made consuming work without feedback the norm.
> 
> When I started writing in the days of LJ and FF.net pre-purge, everyone commented on everything, they'd add suggestions and requests, and it was almost like you were writing with your readers help. With their encouragement I could write a chapter or more a day sometimes, but now I just feel like I'm pouring my heart and soul into 10k word fanfics, releasing them for free, and no one cares. I miss the way things were when i was a kid, and I don't think that atmosphere is ever coming back.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my fanfictions until this point. This chapter will be uploaded un-beta'd and unfinished.

-

After Prompto finally finds something to open the can with and he has a quick snack, he and Noctis head back out onto the streets to formally begin hunting. The street outside the house is a crossroad, they can either go left through a gate, or right down a small flight of stairs. Noctis has no idea which way to go or where to begin, so he turns to Prompto for guidance. Prompto looks up and down the two paths, chewing his lip in a way that makes Noctis wonder if he has any better idea than he does.

“Just pick whatever,” Prompto says finally, “On a night like this we’ll run into beasts no matter where we go.”

Noctis has no interest in hunting. His father is the number one thing on his mind. He’ll kill a few beasts, hopefully it will fulfill the terms of the contract he signed, and then he can focus on what’s really important. He picks the stairs on a whim, and down they go into a winding street made up of equal parts rooftops and doorways. Noctis keeps hia hand on the hilt of his sword, trying to peer into every shadowed corner, trying to keep an ear out for noises other than that of his own heartbeat. Prompto is seemingly calmer, keeping his eyes ahead with his the hood of his red cloak pulled up to protect against the cool night air, but like Noctis he keeps his hand close to his weapon; a large and expensive looking pistol holstered at his hip. Noctis isn’t really into weapons, especially not guns, but he has to admit that the gun is beautiful, covered in complicated looking patterns engraved expertly into the silver. 

“Where’d you get that?” Noctis points at it. 

Prompto seems to jump a bit and places his hand protectively on the pistol, but then quickly relaxes and exhales lightly. “It’s not mine. Stole it.”

Of course he did. “I’m not passing judgement or anything, but is looting really that common here?”

“I dunno. I’m just doing what I need to so I can leave the city.”

“You make it sound like it’s a prison.”

“...Yeah.” Prompto pointedly looks away from him, and Noctis decides not to question him further. He’s definitely judging Prompto now, because he’s suddenly terrified that his companion is an escaped criminal of some sort, but Prompto said he would help. As long as he doesn’t turn that gun on either him or Regis, he tells himself, he can rob him blind and leave him naked on a roadside for all he cares.

It’s not long before Prompto’s prediction comes true. A screaming figure jumps out at them from behind some piled up barrells and crates, swinging a rusted machete wildly. But it’s another man, not a beast, no ears or tails in sight, and despite what happened with the other men earlier, Noctis hesitates. He stumbles back, barely avoiding the blade as he overbalances and falls on his backside, and the crazed man swings at him again, but the machete never meets its mark because Prompto steps forward and fires a shot right into the assailant’s head.

Bits of skull and brain spatter into Noctis’ face. Noctis blinks, staring in shock. “W-What...”

“You need to be faster than that.” Prompto down at him with wide eyes. His voice is gentle, rather than chastising, as he reaches out a hand, which Noctis takes after a beat and pulls himself up with. “You know that was a beast, right?”

“He… He looked human. It freaked me out.”

“Yeah, well, even if he is human, you should fight back right? You can’t find your dad if you’re dead.”

He clenches his fists. Prompto makes it sound so easy; before tonight, Noctis had never even killed a rabbit or a fox for sport, let alone another person. “I know. I’ll… I’ll try to do better. 

His companion seems to perk up at that, and they continue on towards more stairs that appear to lead down to some kind of main street. They don’t get far before they come across yet more transforming beastmen. Noctis expected beasts to be more, well, “beastlike”, more like the werewolf that attacked him at the medical clinic, but he spots an entire mob of men with dirty bloodstained clothes on a street below them, lumbering up the road holding lit torches and makeshift weapons. They’re tall and lanky, their arms and legs seem far too long for their trousers and sleeves, particularly their left arms, which seem like they could touch the ground without needing to crouch. He and Prompto wait hidden atop on the stair landing above for the bulk of the mob to pass, then head down onto the street.

There’s two stragglers standing by an abandoned carriage on the side of the road. Prompto picks them off easily from a short distance, firing his pistol twice in quick succession. He has a good aim and he barely flinches at the recoil, but the noise attracts the rest of the mob, shouting for their fellows to come help take care of the “beasts”, and now there’s too many for Prompto to take out before he has to reload. Noctis prays to the gods of his homeland, thinks of his father, and raises his sword.

Something in his mind clicks. He dashes forward, and takes out several of the men with a flurry of swipes he won’t even remember making later. He doesn’t know how to use a sword, how to fight, how to move the way he is, and he doesn’t feel in control of his body anyway, so he can only assume the sword is somehow guiding him, using him as the weapon instead of the other way around. He dodges, kicks, rolls, avoids virtually all of the mobs sloppy attacks, and then barely a few minutes later, the mob is a pile of bodies scattered on the road, and Noctis is standing in the centre, panting from exertion, but not exaustion. 

He looks down at his hand. It’s covered in blood, and it feels like a great deal of the rest of him is the same. He wants to srop his sword and kick it away, because that was terrifying, he just killed fourteen people without even thinking, but instead he wipes it off on his jacket with shaking hands and puts it back in its sheathe. At least he’s not throwing up now.

“You okay?” Prompto asks, emerging from the shadows he’d been providing cover fire from. The look he’s giving him suggests that the turmoil in Noctis’ mind is visible on his face, so he decides to answer truthfully.

“No.”

Prompto opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, so he closes it, and instead reaches out to touch Noctis’ arm comfortingly. Noctis wants nothing more than comfort at the moment, but he wants it from his dad, not from a stranger who finds murder easy and has an ambiguous criminal past.

“I’m done with this.” he says, shrugging the hand off. “We’re going to look for my father, now.”

Prompto looks confused. “But the hunt-”

“Fuck the hunt alright? I’ve killed some beasts, I’ll kill some more if we see any on the way, but I’m not wasting any more time on this. Those Yharnam Gods aren’t telling me where he is, but they can’t stop me from finding him.”

The Gods are just keeping information from him, Noctis tells himself. They can’t have taken him prisoner, right? Because if Gods are keeping Regis prisoner, if he physically can’t reach his father, that’s bad, that’s horrifying, that’s something he refuses to even consider.

Prompto is looking at him sadly, brows furrowed. Again, he seems like he’s going to say something, but then he apparently thinks better of it and sighs. “Okay, do you have any idea where to start?”

“That’s what I have you for, right?” Noctis guestures to his companion, “Does Yharnham have any, I dunno, shelters? Where do people normally go to escape beasts if they don’t have a house?”

“Um. Oedon Chapel, maybe?”

“You’re going to Oedon Chapel?” An unknown voice interrupts them all of a sudden. They whirl around to where the voice came from, readying their weapons on instinct. In the window of one of the houses lining the street, the curtains are parted, and the small and round face of a girl peers out at them through the protective bars, her brown eyes wide and pleading. She can’t be any older than sixteen.

Noctis lowers his weapon. She’s not beastly or yelling curses at him, so that makes her safe in his book. “I Guess. Are we, Prompto?”

“Um, sure, yeah!” Prompto jumps a bit at being addressed. He’s already holstered his gun, but he still looks nervous, twitching and fidgeting keeping his eyes on everywhere but the girl. Noctis looks back at the girl, wondering if he’s missing some sign of transformation or madness, but she looks completely normal. Exausted and scared, maybe, but her expression brightens immesurably at Prompto’s confirmation.

“Can you look for my father and brother?” She asks quickly, “They’re out on the hunt too, but they usually check in at home every couple of hours. They haven’t been back all night, I’m starting to get worried. They said they were heading to the chapel last time we spoke.”

Prompto seems to get even more nervous at that, answering before Noctis can even process the question. “Sorry don’t really, uh, have the time to be searching for other hunters, we have our own stuff you know?”

“Oh… Okay, I’ll go look myself then.”

Prompto finally meets her gaze, looking up at her in wide eyed alarm. “What?! You can’t do that! Are you even a hunter?!”

The girl looks a little indignant at that. “No, dad won’t let me sign a contract yet. But I’ve been training in weaponry ever since I was a kid, If you aren’t willing to look for them then I’m sure I’ll manage.”

You’re still just a kid, Noctis thinks but doesn’t say. Prompto seems to be thinking the exact same thing. “Come on, miss, it’s way too dangerous. If they’re hunters then they can take care of themselves, right?”

“It really is all up to me, then.” The girl sighs, completely disregarding what Prompto just said. “I hope they left one of the lighter blades behind. I guess if nothing else at least I still have the training sword...”

She trails off in thought and steps back from the window, letting the curtains fall closed, and Prompto yelps and dashes up to the bars, trying fruitlessly to reach through them to catch the girl’s arm.

“Wait, wait! We’ll find them alright?!”

The girl reappears quick enough that it’s obvious she hadn’t even gone more than two paces from the window, let alone left to look for a weapon. She smiles brightly. “Great. Gladiolus is my brother, Clarus is my father. Just tell them Iris is worried for them, they’re both over six feet tall and wield greatswords, so you won’t be able to miss them.”

Prompto steps back from the window, exhaling in defeat. “Gladiolus and Clarus. Right. We’ll find them, don’t worry.”

“Thanks so much, Mister Orphan.”

Prompto’s face seems to drain of all colour at that, and just for a moment, he looks like he’s going to be sick. But then the moment passes, and he seems to regain his composure enough to say goodbye to the girl. When she vanished back behind the curtains, he lets out a laboured breath, and Noctis feels that he should say something.

“Um. You okay?”

“Yeah!” Prompto says a little too loudly, “Just frustrated, ya know? She really had me wrapped around her finger.”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, rubbing the back of neck. “So like, is it okay if we look for those guys? I know I should have asked you first, but…”

“It’s fine.” Noctis waves off his concerns. He’d already decided to look for the two men before the girl had finished talking; wanting to find your missing father was definitely something he could sympathise with, and he wasn’t about to let a teenage girl run off into the night by herself. “But did you know that girl?”

“No, why?”

“She called you an orphan. How’d she know that if you’d never met her?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, people love to gossip in this city. So, um, she didn’t know me well, we’d never been introduced, but... Yeah. ”

Noctis isn’t sure what to make of this explanation. He’s not convinced he’s telling the truth, but he’s not exactly sure what parts are lies. He frowns at Prompto, who looks more and more uncomfortable by the second. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

Prompto groans into his hands. “Look, I don’t wanna talk about it, okay? My parents are kind of a sensitive topic, and I don’t want the night to get any more traumatic than it already is.”

“...Right.” Noctis sighs. Prompto has a point there. Now he feels kind of bad, questioning him about his dead parents like that. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His companion shakes his head, looking around, then points back towards the stairs they came down to the street from. “Quickest way to Oedon Chapel starts back at the lamp, by the way.”

Noctis follows him, falls into step beside him, but he still feels bad, because he knows what Prompto must be feeling, and Iris calling him an orphan seemed needlessly rude, so he feels like he should say something.

“My mother’s dead.” He says somewhat awkwardly. Prompto glances back at him.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Yeah. So, um. I know it sucks, having it rubbed in your face like that.”

“...Yeah.” Prompto’s face softens a bit. “Can I ask how she died?”

“Illness,” Noctis answers, “Same thing I have. Or, had, I guess I’m cured now. It makes your lungs not work properly, my nanny used to call it Saltbrow.”

“Saltbrow?” There’s a bit of laughter to Prompto’s voice. “Why’s it called that?”

“Apparently if you have it and someone kisses you on the forehead, you taste really salty.”

Prompto makes a little “Huh” noise, then suddenly, he places a hand on Noctis’ shoulder, making him stop. Noctis almost reaches for his sword, thinking maybe Prompto spotted a beast, but then Prompto leans closer to him, stands on his toes, cups Noctis’ cheek and presses his lips to his forehead. Noctis freezes in surprise, his heart is suddenly in his throat because this is different to when his dad kisses him or how his nanny used to kiss him, it feels WEIRD, and then Prompto pulls away and licks his lips thoughtfully.

“You don’t taste salty to me.”

Noctis gapes for a moment. “Uh… Good, then.”

His companion looks at him with confusion, like Noctis is being the weird one, even though any normal person would know it’s socially unacceptable to kiss men you’ve just met, but they’re getting distracted from their destination, and Prompto is obviously a weird kind of guy any way, so he determinedly marches on ahead before his companion can say anything else.

-

The journey back to the lamp is peaceful, ignoring the bodies that the two left there earlier. Noctis is almost able to pretend he’s just on an ordinary and blandly pleasant walk, but then they reach the lamp all too soon and go down the other road, and their encounters with beasts resume.

Noctis hates it. The sword makes all his moves easy, effortless, automatic, but the screams of pain, the sound of metal cutting into bone, the sight of the light fading from widened eyes is too much for him. He stops paying attention, lets his mind wander to the point that he can’t even feel it when a beast gets in a blow, and all he can see, feel, or hear or blocked out with white noise.  
The further they get from the lamp, the more apparent it is that it’s not just men falling to the beast plague. They’re attacked by ravenous dogs, and gigantic screaming birds that once might have been ravens but now resemble blackened corpses of eagles.

They also encounter giants. That’s what Noctis calls them because he can’t think of any better way to describe them. Upwards of twice the size of normal men, their faces are cold and grey like stone, and their dark grimy clothes are ripped and torn in ways that make it look normal sized men once wore them but then grew very quickly all of a sudden. Two of them amble up and down a street, aimlessly pacing as though lost. Prompto goes pale as a ghost when he sees them. 

“Church servants.” His voice is hushed and fearful.

“Are they beasts?” They don’t look like beasts.

“No, but they’re just as bad. We’ll have to kill them too, they’re blocking the way to the chapel.”

Noctis doesn’t want to, but he does as he’s told. He flies in, sword swinging of its own accord, and again he blocks it out and fills his senses with nothingness. He’s so engrossed in nothing, that he notices too late one of the church servants coming up behind him and grabbing him with too much speed even for his magical sword to counter. The servant squeezes him in his massive hands, shakes him, then throws him to ground with enough force that he hears a cracking noise, but he’s not sure if it’s his bones or the pavement beneath him. His mind is full of whiteness of a different kind now, white hot pain shooting all throughout his body and centering in somewhere inside his skull.

There’s yelling. Prompto is screaming at the servants, trying to get their attention, fumbling with the effort of loading a new round in his pistol. He’s been shooting at the servants the entire time, but the bullets have been practically bouncing off half the time, and the other half they’ve barely made the giants falter. Noctis is on the ground now, crumpled in a heap and too stunned to even breathe, and he must look dead to them, because they turn away from him now and start advancing on the gunman.


End file.
